


What Happened Under the Table

by dorbee



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fenton is a saint and he deserves better than this, Gen, Gyro has the mental health understanding of an inanimate object, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorbee/pseuds/dorbee
Summary: When The Bin goes under lockdown, the power to the lab gets cut. Fenton finds it annoying more than anything else. Gyro, on the other hand...
Relationships: Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Gyro Gearloose
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88





	What Happened Under the Table

First, the lights went out. Fenton furrowed his brow. “I thought the emergency generators kicked in way before we could lose power—”

Steel plates slammed down over the doors and windows, cutting him off with a startle.

“ATTENTION ALL BIN EMPLOYEES,” a computer woman said over the loudspeaker.  “THE BIN IS UNDER TOTAL LOCKDOWN DUE TO:” her voice cut out. “The Beagle Boys,” Scrooge finished, sounding annoyed more than anything else.  “THE BIN WILL BE UNDER TOTAL LOCKDOWN UNTIL:” her voice cut out again. “Further notice.”

Fenton groaned.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.”

He felt his way over to the nearest flat surface and deposited his blueprints. “That sure takes the light out of a fine workday, doesn’t it Dr. Gearloose?”

Silence.

“Uh, Dr. Gearloose?”

Fenton stepped toward the center of the room, straining his ears for some sign of his boss. He didn’t hear the usual grumbling, or the much less frequent humming—but he did hear whimpering. His heart sped up. “Dr. Gearloose, are you okay?” he called into the darkness, attempting to zero in on his location. As he ran his hand across a desk, the whimpering grew louder—immediately below him. He backed away and crouched down.

By now, Fenton’s eyes had adjusted to the dark. He could make out Gyro under the desk, pressed back against the adjacent wall. His knees were up to his chest, his head resting in his folded arms. He didn’t notice Fenton immediately. When he did, he yelped, scrambling backwards—but there was nowhere for him to go. 

“Dr. Gearloose, it’s me! Fenton! Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera! Intern!” he said. 

“No,” Gyro said, “no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” and he continued on until the word became inaudible, his head buried back in his arms.

Fenton could tell he was dealing with more than a fear of the dark.

“Listen, Dr. Gearloose, you’re safe. There’s no one who’s going to hurt you. It’s you and me,” he said softly. Gyro was quiet now, no longer looking at Fenton like (as much of) a threat, but not looking off-edge. “Do you know what year it is?”

The question hit Gyro like a baseball striking an unassuming child in the stands. His mind turned wildly trying to answer, and he gripped his legs tighter—

“It’s 2017. And it’s April 10th. April 10th, 2017.”

Gyro seemed caught off guard by the answer, but he didn’t reject it. Progress.

“And you’re in the laboratory at Scrooge McDuck’s money bin.”

Some of the haze lifted from Gyro’s eyes. Progress!

“The Beagle Boys are up to something, so our power got cut. No one’s trying to get into the lab, and I’m sure Mr. McDuck is handling them upstairs. You’re gonna be fine.” He reached out a hand to Gyro and repeated, “You’re gonna be fine, Dr. Gearloose.”

_ “Dr. _ Gearloose,” Gyro repeated back, grabbing Fenton by his arm.

Fenton smiled and nodded. Gyro’s breathing was shaky and quick, but he was looking Fenton in the eye, and he looked like he was in there. He looked like Dr. Gearloose.

“Do you wanna come out, or do you want me to stay here, or—well, what do you want to do?”

Gyro sighed and patted the space next to him under the desk. Fenton, still chipper as ever, crawled under and sat next to him. “It’s kinda cozy down here!” He said, scooting back against the wall. No response. Fenton looked at Gyro sympathetically. “Listen, I—”

“You think I’m a crazy person, don’t you?”

Fenton paused. “…Of course I don’t, Dr. Gearloose!”

Gyro rolled his eyes. “Your lies are kind but empty, Intern.”

“No, no, I’m serious! You’re not crazy at all!”

“Then what am I?” Gyro said. “Mentally ill? Traumatized? Crazy! They’re synonyms!”

Fenton recoiled, his hand to his heart. “Oh, Dr. Gearloose, those aren’t bad things! Also, my thesaurus is at home, but I don’t think—”

“Oh, shut up,” Gyro sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching his beak. Fenton dutifully shut up—for a moment. 

“No.”

Gyro looked at Fenton, genuinely shocked. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can tell you two things: It wasn’t your fault, and neither is this reaction. PTSD is a medical condition, not a personal failing.”

Gyro’s confused look turned… sour. Fenton gulped. 

“Did you look at my employee file or something? How do you know my medical history?” Gyro finally said, anger at the back of his throat. When Fenton didn’t answer immediately, he snapped his fingers in his face. “I asked you a question, lead-for-brains!”

Fenton sputtered a moment before, “What? No, Dr. Gearloose, I—” he cut himself off. Thinking over the different possible answers, he settled on the honest one. “My M’ma has PTSD too. I help her when stuff like this happens, so I—I recognized it.”

Immediately, Gyro softened in a way he rarely did. “Oh. Well, I didn’t know that,” he said, reserved. “Don’t expect to hear this often, but I’m sorry.”

Fenton’s face was bright. “Oh, don’t worry Dr. Gearloose, I completely understand!” He cleared his throat. “Now, this may be too prying, but—”

“Then don’t say it—”

“You’re still shaking.”

Gyro looked down at his hands. Sure enough, they were shaking like leaves. “Aftershocks,” he said, holding them out in front of him and taking a few (not very successful) deep breaths. They didn’t stop shaking. He clenched his fists.

“I’m still here if you want to talk,” Fenton said.

“It’s stupid.”

“I promise you it isn’t.”

“Oh, so you’re  _ sure _ you know more about  _ me _ and  _ my _ trauma than  _ I _ do? Is that what you’re saying?”

Fenton leaned back, holding his hands up in defense. “No, Dr. Gearloose, it’s from experience is all! Talking helps.”

He sighed. “It’s old family drama.”

Fenton motioned for him to continue. Gyro shuddered at his caring. 

“Okay, so I’m one of 14 kids, I’m the youngest, and I was unplanned. Get the picture?” Fenton nodded. “The only difference between me and my—to be clear,  _ totally normal siblings _ —is that I grew up in a shed.”

Fenton was no longer sure he got the picture. He raised an eyebrow. “A—a shed?”

Gyro glared at him. “A simple, single-story roofed structure in a back garden—”

“No, no, I know what a shed is—do you mind me asking why you were in one?”

“Oh, because my father didn’t want me in the house.”

“W-what?”

“My father didn’t think I belonged in the family, so I stayed in the shed whenever I wasn’t at school.”

At first, Fenton could only stare in disbelief. 

“Do I have something on my face, Intern?”

He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “No, just—Dr. Gearloose, that’s  _ awful _ !”

Gyro leaned his head against the wall. “Here we go with the pity party.”

“This isn’t a pity party, this is serious!” Fenton said, raising his voice. “That’s not what any child deserves! It’s completely immoral, and—and of  _ course _ it traumatized you!”

“It was  _ just _ a garden shed.”

“Was it?”

Gyro went quiet. 

“It must’ve been dark, cold. Certainly lonely. And to know your father didn’t—didn’t  _ want _ you, that’s  _ not _ okay! That affects your development, Dr. Gearloose, you have to know that!”

Gyro grit his teeth, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t speak, he didn’t nod, but the tears running down his beak and to the floor spoke for him. Fenton scooted in closer.

“It’s not just a shed—it’s trauma. And sometimes, when you’ve got trauma, you’ve got Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. That doesn’t make you a crazy person, it’s not a character flaw. It’s your brain trying to handle something it couldn’t  _ ever _ prepare for!” He paused, his heart aching at the sound of Gyro sniffling.

“Dr. Gearloose, can I give you a hug?”

Like he didn’t have the strength to respond otherwise, Gyro leaned into Fenton, who opened his arms and held him. Gyro didn’t hug back, but Fenton didn’t expect him to. He didn’t mind. 

And then the power flickered back on.

“ATTENTION ALL BIN EMPLOYEES,” a computer woman said. The steel plates lifted from the windows and doors.  “THE BIN IS UNDER PARTIAL LOCKDOWN DUE TO:” her voice cut out. “The Beagle Boys, but now they’re tied up and we’re waiting for the coppers,” Scrooge said.  “THE BIN WILL BE UNDER PARTIAL LOCKDOWN UNTIL:” her voice cut out again. “I have no more Beagle Boys in my bin,” Scrooge finished.

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.”

Gyro looked up at Fenton, cleared his throat, and pushed away, getting up from under the desk. Fenton followed. “Alright Intern,” he said, adjusting his tie. “I’ll thank you for your… help, and escort you up to HR.”

“What are we going to HR for?”

“So you can put in your two weeks.”

Fenton gasped. “Wait, wh—why would I do that?”

Gyro raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Because that’s what my interns do after something like this happens? Please, I don’t expect you to stick around after I told you my father made me eat dog food.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

Gyro’s eyes went blank. “Everything’s fine,” he said, like a robot. Fenton sighed, but kept his smile steady.

“Dr. Gearloose, you don’t need to worry about me quitting over a flashback,” Fenton said. The mere word “flashback” made Gyro cringe, but Fenton refused to hedge. “You’re the most brilliant mind in Duckburg! It would be ridiculous for me to quit over something that isn’t even a problem in the first place.”

Gyro opened his mouth to argue, but Fenton shot him a look that said “buddy, if you fight me on this, we’re  _ both _ gonna be sorry.” Gyro sighed and relented. 

“Fine. You’re staying. But we are not friends, and we are never—and I mean  _ never _ —talking about this again.”

Fenton nodded. “Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!”

Gyro smiled and nodded back. “Good. Now get back to work before your quitting becomes a firing.”

Fenton nodded again, much more concerned. “Yessir, Dr. Gearloose!” he repeated, before running back to his blueprints. 

Gyro lingered for a moment, his eyes following Fenton. He pondered the young duck. So compassionate, so full of life and wonder—no, he perished the thought. It was time to get back to what really mattered.

Work!

**Author's Note:**

> Want a fic? Get in touch! I'm d0rbee on Twitter and Tumblr.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated.


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